Fall Down Hard
by KT the Shimmer Skank
Summary: When you're at the end of your rope, a good friend might be the only thing you have left. [one-shot]


**Fall Down Hard**

Rated T for dark thematic elements and some language

Author's Notes: This was inspired by the song "Rooftop" by Melissa Mclelland. This fic is best experienced if you happen to be listening to that song. Plus it's just an awesome song. Um. I don't own Lizzie McGuire. Read and review, I'll give you candy. The candy of my love, that is.

o o o o o o

I was the odd man out. I was the quirky one. The strange one. The mischievious one. I was the one who would sneak extra cookies at snack time. The one who would suggest sneaking into the movie theater. The one who would slip a tube of lip gloss into my purse when the security guard wasn't looking. Even in those innocent days, the days when we were the truest and happiest of friends, you could have looked at us and picked me out as the troubled one. I had the devilish smile, the snippy attitude, the bold streaks of color in my hair. You just knew it. You knew I'd be the one who would push every boundary, the one who would grow up to raise alot of hell. I'd be the one that got left behind.

It was obvious, I'm sure. But I can honestly say I didn't see it coming. I guess when it's you, you're not supposed to see it coming.

I guess I just always felt a few steps behind. Kids fall down, they get back up, and they learn not to run so fast. That's how life is supposed to happen. That's the way it always happened with Lizzie. Things were always _happening_ to Lizzie. She was the center of the universe. She would fall, and she would get back up, and she would learn. And she would do it so beautifully that everyone would applaud. She always came out on top. She was the light that I stood beside for so long, to disguise my own shadowy behavior.

And Gordo? Gordo was always more special than any one of us. Gordo would see the rough spots before he ever even hit them. He might stumble, perhaps, for the sake of playing the role of the struggling adolescent. But he always _understood _it, knew exactly what was happening, breathed the truth inside and out. He would watch us fall, and watch us get back up, and he would learn. He was the one that was just... over our heads. Too much fo us to comprehend, too far for us to ever really reach.

And then me. I was the stubborn one, the stupid one, the troubled one, and things just never worked out for me that way. I would fall, and get back up, and then I would walk right over the same unsteady path again. I never learned. I always had to take things too far. I had to fall _hard_ before anything would ever get through my thick head. And I wanted to be good, just like Lizzie, and smart, just like Gordo, and pretty, just like Kate, and wanted, just like Ethan. I tried so hard. I tried _too _hard. I pushed the boundaries too far. And soon I just lost sight of what I really wanted.

I experimented with drugs. I experimented with hair styles, with rock and roll. I messed around with boys. I messed around with girls. I pierced more body parts than I should have. I failed more classes than I should have. I suffered through anorexia, more than once. I wrecked my car more than once. I steal things. I drink too much. I lie too much. I skip class alot. I did, and still do, alot of stupid things. Alot of stupid high school things that stupid girls do when they're trying to find themselves or... whatever. I fell down so many times, but I just never hit the ground quite hard enough to learn my lesson.

And now I'm so sick of myself I can't breathe. Today is my eighteenth birthday. It's supposed to be something amazing, I guess. But I can't even look myself in the mirror. I look like shit, I know I do. Blue is the hair color of the week right now, and it brings out the paleness of my skin. My eyes are sunken. You can see my veins. Blue. I haven't been to class in three days. I smoked the last of my weed and I really want some more but that would mean getting up, leaving my house. And I just don't have the strength to do that any more. I am so sick of being seen. Sick of being judged. Sick of falling and never going anywhere.

I just never learn. And that's never going to change. Tomorrow just doesn't mean a damn anymore. I don't know if anyone can possibly know how that feels. To just... give up. To hate yourself, really hate yourself. To know deep down that ending it all is the only good decision you've ever made in your life.

I guess you could say I've been killing myself since the eighth grade, when anorexia first settled in. Slowly starving myself, rotting away. Or maybe you could say from the tenth grade, when I did my first hard drugs. Slowly destroying my body, wearing it down. I've been pushing everything that could be pushed. Trying to fall hard enough to finally _feel._ My guidance counselor always told me she was worried I was self-destructive.

Well, no more screwing around. This time it's for real. This time I'm going all the way to the edge. I took the pills. Took them slowly, with a bottle of Heineken, so that I wouldn't puke them up. It's going to be over for real this time, finally. When I fall, I won't get back up. Ever again. For the first time in my life... the last time in my life... I'm going to do something the right way, on the very first try.

Someone knocks on the door. "Mija," says my mother's chipper voice. She sounds distorted, far away. God I'm wasted. "Come downstairs. I have something to show you. I think you'll like it."

I groan and fall back on my bed, clutching my lavender pillow, staring at the posters on my wall. Everything looks... melty. "Go away," I groan. "I don't feel like it tonight, Mama."

"Miranda, come downstairs. It's important... it's special, for your birthday."

"Fuck my birthday." I bury my head under the pillow. I hear her sigh, so heavily, and then her footsteps go down the stairs. I start to see colors on my closed eyelids. Blues and purples, spinning circles. My toes feel funny. This is the last thing I'll ever feel. Stoned. I laugh out loud at myself.

I thought she would go away, but I hear her coming up the stairs again. There are a few extra pairs of feet trodding behind her. I pull my head out from under the pillow and moan in irritation. The door swings open and there's Gordo, holding a gleaming white birthday cake with eighteen glowing candles across the top. Behind him stand Lizzie, Ethan, and Larry, holding small gifts and shouting, "Surprise!" I laugh and stand up, stumbling towards them. I slide my finger along the edge of the cake and scrape off a gooey blob of snow-white frosting.

"Aren't you guys just _wonderful_," I joke, licking my finger. "Thanks for coming, really. Now we can all be happy again, just like middle school." I laugh wildly at this, because I know they don't understand how funny it is, and I attempt to collapse back onto my bed. I miss, terribly so, and fall hard onto the bare-wood floor. I hit my head, I think my face might be bleeding, but I can't feel anything. I giggle softly into the purple rug.

Lizzie just frowns and shakes her head. "Yeah, this was a _great_ idea, Gordo," she says bitterly. "She's trashed. Again. What a surprise." She tosses a sparkly pink gift bag onto my dresser and stares at me. "Happy Birthday, Miranda," she hisses. "Sorry, Mrs. Sanchez." My mother watches on helplessly, folding her arms and clicking her tongue in that familiar way, as Lizzie walks out my bedroom door.

I try to lift my head but it suddenly feels very, very heavy. The room starts to blur. "Yeah, yeah, go to HELL, Lizzie!" I yell at the floor. "You know I always hated that stupid pink shirt of yours... the one with the tulips. Who the hell wears tulips?" But it's just no fun to tell her off when she's not even there.

I can hear the awkward silence growing in the room. "Maybe you boys should go home," my mother suggests to those who remain in my doorway.

"Yeah, go away," I add. "This will all be better tomorrow. Right? Isn't it ALWAYS better tomorrow?" I laugh again. They still don't get the joke. It only makes it funnier. I hear movement in the room, and few moments later Gordo is at my side, the cake gone from his hands. He touches my shoulder. His hand is hot, and I realize how cold I'm starting to feel.

"We brought mint chocolate chip icecream," he says. "Your favorite. It'd be a waste if you didn't come downstairs and have some."

Fighting the spinning sensation in my head, I lift myself up and flip onto my side so I can see him. But I can't see him. Everything is blurry, starting to get dimmer. I can't feel my feet anymore. "_I'm_ a waste, Gordo. A wastey waste. I failed another science test, you know. I wish you could have helped me study. I wish you could have helped me. I wish I wish I wish..."

I see a sudden crescent moon of white as Gordo cracks a smile. "I'll help you study for the next one."

I chuckle and take his hand. "Forget that, man. I'm never taking another science test as long as I live. Haha. Yay. No more science. No more anything. Ever ever ever."

The crescent moon disappears. "Miranda? What does that mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Don't worry. Go get my icecream." I laugh some more and roll back into my stomach. I feel like I'm about to fall asleep, but Gordo shakes me awake. I mumble into the rug, trying to close my eyes. Gordo shakes me violently again.

"What does that mean, Miranda? What did you take tonight?" His voice sounds scared. He gets up and starts moving things around. Every inch of movement echoes, echoes, in my head, circles around me. Everything in the room feels like its a hundred miles away. Gordo gasps suddenly, so so far away from me. He probably found the bottle. He found the punchline.

"Call an ambulance, right now!" he shouts, running back to my side. My mother squeals in horror. I feel the shaking, shaking. I'm so sleepy. I want to close my eyes. But he keeps shaking me. "Miranda, wake up. Stay awake. Stay with me. We're going to get you help. Just stay with us. Come on, sit up." I feel his hands wrapped around me, trying to pull me off the ground. He doesn't understand how heavy I am. All those years watching my weight, and look what good it did me. I feel like I swallowed a metric ton of concrete. I'm so tired.

Finally he pulls me into a sitting position. He's leaning against me, keeping me from lying back down, shaking me again and again. Stay with me, he says. Stay awake. Help is coming. His soft curls press against my face as he holds onto me. Shaking me every time I start to drift to sleep.

"Gordo," I mumble softly into his ear. "Let me go to sleep, please. I'm so tired. Just leave me alone and let me go. Pretty please."

I bury my face in his shoulder. He touches my face and jostles my head. "I can't do that, Sanchez. You're just going to have to suck it up and hold on. You have to hold on, Miranda. Stay awake."

Everything that happens in the next few minutes is cloudy. It's all happening so fast. There's so many people in the room, hundreds, maybe. They're all talking so fast, so loud. It's all a blur of murmurs and colors. Two men in white grab hold of me, pushing so hard. They pin my shoulders. They're choking me. Swallow the tube, they say. I'm choking. The rubber tube goes down, down, down my throat. It hurts so bad. I still haven't let go of Gordo's hand. I squeeze it hard as the tube comes out along with the contents of my stomach. A spray of beige vomit covers my purple rug. They try to put the tube back in but it just hurts so bad. I kick at the men. I try to push them away. I scream like I have never screamed before. I squeeze Gordo's hand. They rub a piece of charcoal on my tongue, and I throw up again. So many voices, telling me to do so many things at once. Colors. Sounds. Blurs. Hurting. Voices. Murmurs. So fast, so far away.

But for a moment, the madness comes to a stop. The smoke clears ever so briefly, and I see a pair of round brown eyes staring back at me. Gordo. He's here with me. He's holding my hand. He's not letting go, even though I told him too. He stayed, even though Lizzie left, even though my mother told him to leave. He stayed. He found the bottle. He told them to call the ambulance. He told me to stay awake. He took my hand even when I wasn't reaching for him. The world is going black around me and my head is messed up but one thing I do seem to understand is that I might die any moment now. But Gordo keeps reminding me to stay awake.

_Thank you_, I try to say, but nothing comes out but a slurred babble. Instead I just squeeze his hand. And then I puke again. God I'm stupid. I'm on the floor, red-eyed, covered in my own puke, face bloodied, paramedics trying to shove a tube down my throat, holding onto Gordo's hand. The light is faint. I can't tell if I'm coming back or falling deeper. I don't know if I'm alive or dead. I'm such a mess. You would never find Lizzie like this. Only Miranda could ever fall so hard. She was always the off-beat one, the one with a dangerous side. Should have known she would go and kill herself. I'll bet everyone but me saw this coming from the very beginning.

But I see Gordo. I feel his hand. Tears streak down my face, because I realize now what I've been taking for granted for all these years. Gordo was always my friend, no matter what went wrong. When I fell down, he was watching. And he was the hand that picked me up. And maybe I never learned, but that hand was always there when I needed it.

"I'm sorry," I whisper with my eyes closed. I can barely form words. My head is still spinning, but there's nothing left in me to puke up. I get scared, I start to tremble. What if I fall asleep and don't wake up? Then I can never make this right again. "I'm sorry for everything. I love you so much. I know I keep hurting everyone but I love you..."

I feel that hand squeeze mine again. "I love you too, Miranda. I love you too. And we're going to get you through this. It's going to be okay. Just do what they tell you, okay? Stay with us."

The paramedics start giving orders again, moving me around. I think they're trying to take me downstairs. I can't hear anything they're saying. Everything looks and sounds underwater. I don't know up from down. But I feel Gordo's hand, and that's what I focus on. He tells me to stay with him, and I want to. So bad. I want to stay. As long as I can feel that hand there I know I'm still breathing. I will not fall as long as I'm holding onto him.

I hope that I can get up from this fall. I want to learn this time. I want to brush off my skinned knees and try again. Really try again. Because I know that no one will have seen that one coming. And I know that someone, someone very special, is there with an open hand if I stumble again. Tomorrow might be worth a damn after all.


End file.
